Quiet Shores
by Spinner Dolphin
Summary: Ianto Jones doesn't buy that Severus Snape is a chemistry teacher any more than Severus believes that Ianto works for the government, but they are friends, even if Severus' war and Ianto's job will not allow it. A random, sad little story.
1. Dancing Bears

This is sort of random - something that cropped up in a PM with Paraxenos - so, I suppose I owe her some credit for the idea. -waves to Paraxenos- Anyway, it turned into an odd, sad little crossover that's been sitting in a folder somewhere, so I figured I should post it. It's not a happy ending, people, just FYI.

There may or may not be a second chapter someday, but don't count on it. It stands well enough on its own, and I don't want to promise anything-I don't want another story that I promised a sequel to, and then never delivered! So I'm saying probably not, but perhaps. If I ever have time.

At any rate-enjoy!

DISCLAIMER: JK Rowling owns Severus Snape and all Wizards mentioned, while the BBC owns Ianto and Torchwood. This stuff isn't mine, but it's fun to play with! Don't worry, I'll give them back when I'm done.

* * *

**Quiet Shores**

It was a Sunday, and that meant that Ianto left work early.

Torchwood wasn't exactly the type of job one had if one treasured weekends. While everyone generally did get some time off, at least, it was often random quiet days in the middle of the week, rather than a Saturday or a Sunday, simply by virtue of there being more weekdays than there were weekends. A quiet day was more likely to fall in the five days than the two.

At any rate, it was Sunday, and while Ianto was often at the job after hours, Sundays were special.

"I'm off," he said quietly, picking up his coat. "Think you can handle yourself for the night?" he asked Jack cheekily, and his lover gave him a patented Harkness thousand-watt grin.

"I think we'll be okay," Jack replied easily, "But we might go through caffeine withdrawal."

"No different from any other Sunday, then," Ianto remarked, and Jack chuckled.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Ianto," he said warmly. "You don't take enough time. Go."

Ianto offered him a smile and headed out toward the cog door.

"Oi!" Owen called from the autopsy bay. "And where does he think he's going?"

"Out!" Jack shouted. "Unlike some of us, Ianto actually _works_ seven days a week!"

The cog door closed over Owen's indignant reply, and Ianto smiled to himself. He called the elevator, and then pushed L.

It was true – he did work seven days a week. This was mostly because he was Jack's lover, and generally at Torchwood more often than not. Spending time with Jack generally consisted of Weevil hunting and Torchwood related things, so technically he was working most of the time. Still, unlike Owen, Ianto didn't find it a chore. He enjoyed working for Torchwood three, more than he ever had at Torchwood one.

But that was not a train of thought he wanted to continue, so he stopped there. This was his time off; he had no place for unpleasant thoughts. Or, at least, unpleasant thoughts on his own. The elevator dinged and he walked out into the tourist office. He checked the pamphlets on his desk—everything was in order—before walking out to the quay, the sign almost perpetually proclaiming the office _closed_ flapping as the door shut.

The evening was clear and chilly, but not so bad, really. Ianto adjusted his coat and walked across the Plass, enjoying the weather simply because he could. The pub wasn't a far walk.

It was not the pub he went to with Torchwood. The Dancing Bears was small and poorly lit and often half empty – Torchwood was too loud and rowdy, and the place wasn't clean enough for Owen's tastes. Ianto rather liked it, though, despite the grunge. This was mostly because he liked the company, though.

He'd been going to the Dancing Bears for about two years, actually. He'd started soon after Lisa had died; the other pub was too familiar, too associated with Torchwood. This one, with its dark, poor lighting had fit his mood better, and the service had been good enough to bring him back.

When things had gotten better, he'd almost stopped going. The pub with Torchwood was more fun, really, brighter and less lonely. But five months ago Ianto had visited the Dancing Bears and made a friend. It was rare to have a friend outside of Torchwood, and Ianto liked the ritual, anyway.

"You weren't here last Sunday," the dark, sardonic baritone scolded by way of greeting when Ianto sat on a barstool. "I thought you'd died."

"It came close," Ianto replied gravely. "There was an incident with a paperclip."

The other man smirked into his drink, the flash of crooked teeth hidden by his shoulder-length, greasy hair. "One wonders at the idiocy required to die by paperclip," was the response.

"Not my idiocy," Ianto scorned, huffing slightly. He caught the bartender's eye and the scruffy man brought him a drink.

"The medic's, I assume," his friend guessed dryly.

"Of course," Ianto said and took a sip of his drink when the barman returned. "How've you been, Severus?"

Severus Snape uncrossed his legs and leaned back a little, stretching casually. He was a tall man, clean but unkempt, with something of a hyena about him. His eyes were dark and coldly intelligent, but he regarded Ianto with a sort of sardonic amusement. It was hard to get a friendly word out of him, but his sarcastic comments had gentled over the past few months – or, rather, they remained sharp, but always applied to people who were not Ianto. Ianto assumed that this was a gesture of good will and took care to do the same.

"The invalids haven't managed to kill me yet," Severus drawled and Ianto smirked. The man said that he was a chemistry teacher, but Ianto didn't buy it. Never mind his strange, robe-like clothing, Severus had far too sour a disposition to deal with children on a regular basis. Still, Ianto kept his own secrets so he didn't pry into Severus' life.

"I keep telling myself the same thing," he said dryly. "Any good stories?"

"My, we are inquisitive tonight," Severus shot back.

"Slow day," Ianto shrugged, knowing better than to be offended.

"I thought you were nearly killed by paperclips," Severus sneered. Ianto smirked at him.

"As I said. Slow day."

Severus huffed and took another sip of beer. That sat in companionable silence for a moment before Severus sighed.

"I think," he announced slowly, in the way he did after a pint – not tipsy, but relaxed – "that I will snap one day, and kill Potter."

"That's usually frowned upon," Ianto replied easily.

"It would be worth it," Severus muttered into his drink. "Worth every hour of tedious paperwork. But then—" he trailed off, eyes distant.

"Blood on your floor," Ianto broke in and Severus glanced at him.

"I _beg_ your pardon?" he asked, clearly thrown by the non-sequitur.

"Blood. It's ridiculously hard to get off tile," Ianto said lightly. He knew that look of melancholy and Severus sometimes needed cheering.

"Floor's stone," Severus muttered but his eyes were amused.

"That's worse," Ianto insisted.

"And you know this how?"

"Just do." He shrugged. Severus knew about as much about Torchwood as Ianto know about the school at which the other man worked: that is, nothing. Ianto didn't ask, so Severus didn't either.

"Deadly paperclips and blood on the floor. Your life must truly be a joy," Severus drawled and Ianto smirked.

"You have no idea," he grinned mischievously. "No idea."

.

* * *

.

Severus Snape returned to Hogwarts slightly tipsy, riding a high from slight intoxication and good company.

He'd ended up in the Muggle bar on a whim over the summer, drinking away the depression that always came around the end of June, days that used to be marked by Lily's companionship.

The place was grungy and scruffy and dark, oddly fitting his tastes. The lager was good so Severus had stayed, only to have his silence interrupted by a young Muggle with a scowl on his face. The man had ordered a drink and sat down with a tired huff, and the bartender had asked him, "Hard day, Jones?" to which he had replied politely, but Severus caught the indignant mumble that followed as the bartender walked away.

They'd struck up conversation somehow, and Severus was surprised to find that he liked the boy, who looked as though he were in his early twenties. Ianto Jones was witty and sarcastic and unfailingly polite, although his language tended to turn foul if he drank too much.

They shared a taste in beer and a sense of humor, and Jones had returned that next Sunday. So had Severus.

Severus' companions were few and far between; since Lily he'd learned to value a truly friendly face. This year looked to be a bad one, with the mess at the ministry since Scrimgeour had taken over, and the Dark Lord's plan of action and Dumbledore's—request. An anonymous pub and a sympathetic if slightly sarcastic ear were by far enough to bring Severus to Wales once a week.

He really had feared Ianto's death when the man had not shown up last Sunday. Death Eaters lurked mostly in England and Scotland, but there had been a few—Welsh fieldtrips. In and of himself, Jones wasn't in any particular danger, as he was just a regular Muggle and not part of any sort of resistance, but random casualties were known to happen, especially when Bellatrix went Muggle-baiting.

His friend had been whole and hale, however, and greeted him with a smirk and a sarcastic conversation about blood on the floor.

"So then, Ianto Jones," Severus drawled after ordering his second drink. "I assume government work goes just as poorly as teaching?"

Jones said he worked for the government, but his suits were far too fine, and his eyes glinted with far too much smug knowledge. Severus wasn't fooled for a second. Merlin only knew what the man did, but he didn't ask about Severus, so Severus didn't ask about him.

Ianto snorted into his drink. "We've had a bit of a run around lately, but nothing particularly shocking." He smiled a little to himself. "My boss remains confusing, and Owen remains irritating."

Severus clucked his tongue in his best impression of Minerva. "Does your mother know you're sleeping with your boss?" he mocked.

Ianto almost spat out his drink. "I should think not!" he spluttered, snickering at Severus' tone. "Can you imagine? It'd be a nightmare!"

"You're sure you're not trying to gain intelligence?" Severus drawled. "Surely your boss has some _fascinating_ information."

"I'm obviously the most subtle spy to ever cross the threshold of an office," Ianto deadpanned. "I only ever tell strangers in pubs about my true self. And I'm a superhero by night, too."

"Obviously," Severus replied loftily, not letting himself laugh. "Everyone needs a hobby."

"X-ray vision is so much fun at parties."

Severus lost his battle with composure and chuckled. Ianto tipped his glass and drank, pale eyes bright with amusement.

The horrible, crushing loneliness of Dumbledore's request eased, just a little. Here was a person who would not know either way once Dumbledore was dead; Severus could be simply a sarcastic chemistry teacher, just for a night. He could be nothing more than a friend at the local pub, and share a sense of humor and companionship over a drink. Sundays were good, and as Severus walked up the hill and back to the castle contemplating his night, he thought that maybe this week would be bearable.

.

* * *

.

"Jack, we've got an incident at a pub called Dancing Bears," called Tosh the next Sunday, tapping away at her computer. Ianto, who had been just about to stroll out the doors, paused.

"Where?" he breathed.

Jack jogged down the stairs. He cast a sympathetic look to Ianto – he was no fool; he knew exactly where Ianto went on Sundays, and such an attack may have been targeted.

"Dancing Bears, a small pub," Tosh said and tapped up an image. "There was some kind of explosion—"

Ianto bolted from the cog door and stood behind Tosh. He swore very quietly at what he saw on her monitor; a wrecked crater where the pub should have been. As he watched, smoke drifted slowly from the ruin. Jack came up behind him, laying a supportive hand on his shoulder.

"Any idea what did this?" the Captain asked, tone businesslike. His thumb, however, rubbed soothing circles into Ianto's back.

"Not a clue," Tosh murmured, tapping away.

Gwen grabbed her jacket. "Are we going to stand here, or are we going to check it out?"

Jack opened his mouth to respond, but then his hand suddenly tightened on Ianto's shoulder. "Tosh," he said slowly, "Can you point the camera up?"

Tosh twisted around to look at him quizzically, but then at his nod did as she was told.

"Some kid, looks like," Owen muttered sourly, coming over for a glance. "Playing with fireworks."

Jack did not respond, standing very still. Ianto glanced back at him. His face was pale, and the grip was not loosening; in fact, Jack's knuckles were whitening on Ianto's shoulder. Frowning, Ianto turned to the monitor.

Owen was right; it looked like the afterimage of a firework display, but a bit more morbid. A green skull and serpent glittered ominously above the smoking ruin of building.

"It isn't our department," Jack said coldly after a moment.

"_What?_" Gwen demanded, voicing Ianto's thoughts. "I thought everything weird was our department! What other departments _are_ there? This certainly isn't a matter for the police!"

"The skull and the snake," Jack stated in reply, his grip never leaving Ianto's shoulder. "It's a threat, but not to us. It isn't our business."

"Then we should _make_ it our business!" Gwen snapped. "People have died, Jack!"

Not just people, Ianto thought, misery and fear sweeping through him. Had Severus been in the blast?

"Jack," Ianto put in very quietly before his lover could answer Gwen. "Jack, I met a friend every Sunday in that pub."

"You have friends?" Owen sneered, but Jack cut him off before Ianto could snarl a response.

"I know," Jack murmured, ignoring Owen. "I'm so sorry, Ianto."

Ianto let out a shocked breath. At least he was honest. "Jack—" he started.

"You can't check it out," Jack stated, spinning Ianto to face him. "I'm sorry. It's too dangerous."

"Too _dangerous?_" Ianto demanded. The rest of the team fell absolutely silent, watching the row that was about to break out. "Jack, I'm a Torchwood Operative. I think I can handle dangerous for a friend."

Jack pinched his nose. "My office, Ianto." He tilted his head. Ianto heard Gwen say something to the others with shrill indigence, but he ignored her, numbly following Jack up the stairs to his office. As soon as the door closed, Jack tugged Ianto into his arms. Ianto resisted only briefly, confused and on the edge of angry, but he let Jack hug him when he saw the alarm in the other man's eyes.

"Listen," Jack whispered in his ear, voice soft and urgent. "It isn't aliens. It's something else—like the Fair Folk, remember them? It isn't the fae, but they're like them. It's beyond us, Ianto, and we're defenseless. It's their war, not ours. Please, please trust me. I'm sorry about your friend. I'm so, so sorry, but if you investigate, or go after them,_ you will get killed_. Please." Jack's arms were tight and frightened around Ianto, who sighed and rested his cheek against the Captain's shoulder. He should've known it was something like that.

"What are they, Jack?" he asked quietly. Jack shook his head.

"Can't tell you," he muttered. "No, really. They tend to wipe people's memories, with nothing so clean as Retcon. You have to trust me on this, Ianto."

The tremor that went up Jack's spine was more convincing than his words, really. Ianto felt it, sighed, and despaired for Severus even as he trusted Jack. He swallowed, feeling grief welling in his throat.

"You would've liked him," he muttered into Jack's shoulder and he felt Jack relax against him as he conceded. "He had Owen's sarcasm."

"Sure they weren't related?" Jack asked softly, his nervous cling of before turning into something gentler: comfort. Ianto smiled sadly.

"Positive. They looked nothing alike. His name was Severus Snape."

"Severus Snape," Jack repeated, as though cementing it into his memory. "Has a nice sort of ring to it." He let go of Ianto carefully, before reaching under his desk and pulling out the Scotch. He poured two glasses. "Tell me about him?"

Ianto sighed and sat, taking a glass and appreciating Jack's support. "He was tall and thin with long hair and the most sour disposition you could imagine," he murmured, rolling the glass in his hands before taking a sip. "He said he was a chemistry teacher, but I didn't buy it—"

.

* * *

.

The Dark Mark shone high in the sky, and the sirens of the Muggle authorities wailed in the distance. He should go, Severus thought miserably. He should really, really go.

He was standing knee-deep in the rubble, dark cloak swirling in the faint breeze. Smoke curled up around him, and in the green light cast by the Mark above he could almost see the afterimages of the spells that had brought the pub down. This had Bellatrix written all over it.

Evidentially he wasn't allowed to have any peace, Severus thought angrily, standing still as a statue.

Never mind that Ianto had been a Muggle—he'd been a friend, and a quiet shore Severus could visit briefly once a week. The pub had represented a freedom that Severus knew he could never have, but something he could pretend to possess, if only for an hour or so. But apparently that wasn't allowed; no fraternizing with Muggles. The Dark Lord wouldn't be pleased.

Damn the Dark Lord, anyway, Severus thought viciously. He had a cover story all planned out, too – that he'd needed potions ingredients from a willing, preferably Muggle, donor and he'd been buttering Jones up for it. Imperius would've tainted the work, anyway. He even had the notes on the stuff to give to the Dark Lord.

He was going to kill Bellatrix. No, even better, he was going to twist his cover story so that the Dark Lord would kill Bellatrix. Ianto Jones had never realized it, but he'd made a formidable friend the night he'd struck up conversation with Severus Snape, and Severus would be damned if he didn't avenge the boy's death. His vision blurred with fury.

Turning on the spot, Severus disapparated before the Muggle authorities arrived. The ash from the fire swirled up around the place where he had been standing, reaching for the sky before falling back down.

The students of Hogwarts noticed that Snape was especially vicious the next day, but even Dumbledore never knew the reason behind his sudden, poisonous rage.


	2. Viper's den

_This story continues to be very depressing..._

.

* * *

.

They cornered him in an alleyway in London at two in the morning.

By rights, Ianto really should not have been in an alleyway in London at two in the morning in the first place. He should have been in the Hub, in Cardiff, at two in the morning, but working in the Archives tended to bring up some interesting artifacts.

Apparently there were things that spontaneously teleported people into bad situations, Ianto thought dryly, staring in surprise at the tiny device in his palm.

He didn't know he was in London, and he wasn't entirely sure it was two in the morning, although he suspected it when he heard a church bell somewhere, and heard the accents of the hissing people in black cloaks. The six hooded men that cornered him like a pack of hyenas sounded like Londoners, but really, he could be anywhere.

_Or anywhen, _Ianto thought, and tried to contain his alarm.

"A fresh one here, lads," crooned one of the people in cloaks.

"Lost little lamb!" cackled another.

"It's dangerous to be out alone in the streets at nights, lovely," hissed a third.

Ianto took a breath. Alright then, he thought, and reached very slowly for his gun. "I'm not the best choice," he warned them frankly. "Of all the people in the world to mug, I'm a bad one." He pulled out his weapon, and was surprised when they laughed at him.

"He thinks he's got _teeth_!" shrilled what sounded like a woman and she flicked a stick at him. The gun jerked and spun out of Ianto's hand, hitting the concrete with a loud _crack!_

He tried to jump away, but too late; pain bloomed in his left foot and Ianto staggered, trying to clutch at a wall. The gun had gone off; a bullet embedded itself in his left foot. Well, if this wasn't embarrassing, he thought scornfully to himself, staggering and falling, gasping. The safety had been on, a small portion in the back of his mind protested angrily. Guns don't go off when the safety's on; that's the point. He slid slowly down the wall of the building behind him, foot screeching at the wound, although Ianto kept silent, looking for an escape. He touched the comm in his ear; dead. It was out of range.

The cloaked group laughed and jeered, closing in on him. They all drew similar black sticks, long and thin, and pieces of wood had never looked so threatening.

"_What is the meaning of this?" _hissed a voice suddenly, and Ianto, gritting his teeth from the pain and slowly inching towards his gun, froze in surprise.

"Snape!" yelped one of the cloaked men, and suddenly the six of them did not look frightening at all.

Ianto was not stupid. He kept his mouth shut, but could not stop himself from staring.

Severus Snape, who had apparently not died in the wreck of a bombed building six months ago, strode down the alleyway like a wraith. His clothes were even stranger than Ianto remembered; they billowed out like a magician's robes, only his were black as pitch and he, too, carried a stick in his hand.

"Surely," he drawled as he approached, "_surely _you lot have something far more important to be doing."

"W-we're set on watch, sir," one of the men stammered. "Weasley is rumored to have been seen—"

"And does this look like a Weasley to you?" Severus purred, voice absolutely deadly. Ianto stared; he'd never thought of his friend as frightening, but now power curled in the shadows of strange cloak the man wore, and he was utterly terrifying. "I was under the impression that they are _quite_ distinctive," he added disdainfully, lips curling in a sneer that was even nastier than Owen's.

"Th-they are, sir," whispered the woman.

"In fact," and here Severus strode right up to Ianto, looked down his nose at him and prodding him in the neck with the toe of his boot, lifting his chin, "This doesn't even look like a wizard at all."

_Wizard? _Ianto thought, and then Severus pointed that strange stick at him, and everything went black.

.

* * *

.

Severus' heart was hammering in his chest.

Alive. Ianto was alive. He was _alive! _

As his friend collapsed, unconscious, Severus turned to the Snatchers. He scowled at them and scolded them for wasting time and energy on a useless Muggle. Then he dispatched them with cold authority, flashing green light as they left to simulate a killing curse, although it was nothing of the sort. Still, it was best if they thought that he had taken care of the Muggle, rather than having any inkling of what he was about to do, because his plan as of now was utterly idiotic. Once they were gone, he knelt next to his unconscious friend and then disapparated, taking Ianto with him to Spinner's End, where they might find a modicum if safety.

It was a fool move, of course. Spinner's End was hardly secure, but it was better than Hogwarts, where the Carrows would be simply thrilled with their new toy.

There was no way in any hell that Severus would let those two pieces of scum near his friend.

Wormtail, thankfully, had since moved off the premises. As the Dark Lord's favored, Severus had felt that he could request privacy. It had been granted, as it was common knowledge that Severus detested the vermin. Now, he warded his living room and crouched again next to the unconscious Jones.

This was a bad idea. There were so many reasons why this idea was beyond awful, but this year had been… it had been so, so terrible. Severus swallowed, calling himself foolish and weak, but it had been months since he'd seen a friendly face without an ulterior motive, _months._ He'd thought Ianto was dead; he'd thought Bella had killed him, even though she'd said that there were no Muggles in that damn pub he hadn't believed her.

"_Ennervate,_" Severus whispered, and Jones' eyes snapped open. He gasped and sat up.

"_Severus-!_" He breathed, staring wide-eyed. And then—"My foot—" he looked down and then back at Severus. "You healed me," he added, pale eyes narrowed.

This was a terrible idea.

"Would you have preferred I left you to rot in an alleyway?" Severus snapped defensively, startled by his friend's quick, correct conclusion.

"Not really, no," Ianto replied, looking at his foot again. He wiggled his toes; Severus had had to take off his shoe to remove the bullet. Muggles really had the messiest weapons. "Where am I?"

"My home," Severus replied, thrown by the man's calm acceptance. "No accusations of impossibilities?" he added, scoffing.

Ianto snorted. "I work for Torchwood," he said dryly, as though it would mean something to Severus. It didn't. "If there's anything I'm used to, it's weird things. What are you, fae?" he asked, plain as day.

It was Severus' turn to stare in shock. "Do I _look_ like a fairy to you?" he sneered. How did a Muggle know about fairies?

"You might," Ianto replied with a raised eyebrow.

He was joking. Severus wanted to laugh hysterically. The Muggle Ianto Jones, whom he'd thought had been dead for half a year, who had almost been killed by Muggle-baiting Snatchers, was joking with him, Severus Snape, one of the most feared and hated wizards of his age, calm as anything.

It was utterly, utterly ridiculous, that a mouse like Jones should joke with perfect ease with a viper like Severus.

Severus had never been so glad to see someone alive in his _life_.

"I am not," he said slowly, as though speaking to an idiot, "a fairy. You don't work for the government, Ianto Jones."

"You're not a chemistry teacher," Ianto returned gamely.

"Then we are both liars," Severus said, and he couldn't stop the smirk that threatened to curl his lips. He had missed his friend's quick comebacks.

"Yep," Ianto agreed and then smiled as well. "I thought you'd died, Severus."

"I thought you did as well," Severus replied with a sigh. "Come, Jones," he said, offering a hand. His friend took it, and Severus helped him up. "You still aren't safe."

He would have to take him back, Severus thought regretfully. Take Jones back to Wales, where he could be safe, and remove his friend's memory. Severus could not quite bring himself to want to. Ianto could keep his memories; he was not the type to blab, and the Dark Lord was unlikely to find one harmless Muggle out of millions.

It was a dangerous move, Severus thought to himself. He couldn't afford to be sentimental; ought to remove his friend's memory.

Ianto stood and then tested his foot, leaning on it carefully, oblivious to Severus' internal debate. "Who were those people?" he asked.

Severus shook his head. "The less you know the better," he replied darkly. If he didn't know anything, maybe Severus could let him keep his memories—if Severus played his cards right. If the Dark Lord found out, Severus could always pretend he was brewing something, and would need Jones' liver, or something…It was a nice dream. In reality, it was not worth the risk: Jones could not keep his memory of Severus being kind. Severus could not afford to blow his cover. The entire war rested upon his shoulders.

Ianto was scowling.

"That's what my boss said," he muttered. "Severus, I can help. _We_ can help—"

"I don't think so, Jones," Severus snapped. The very thought was absurd; he wanted his friend alive rather than dead, thank you. "Do not try to change a thing you could not possibly understand."

Ianto's eyes flashed with the challenge, and Severus realized that he had provoked him. Damn his own sharp tongue! "Don't talk about things _you_ don't understand," Ianto said evenly, voice tightly controlled. "I've seen weirder. I've _fought _weirder, and won. I could help, Severus."

"You don't even know who I am," Severus hissed bitterly, advancing upon his friend. Mice should not question, especially not when they were in a viper's nest. "_What _I am—"

"I don't care," Ianto replied plainly, and took the wind right out of Severus' sails. Jones ought to care, Severus thought bleakly. He could kill Ianto where he stood, and the world would not be the wiser.

One Muggle, one defenseless little Muggle. How fragile his friend's life was—and yet Severus still felt guilty.

"I killed a man," he said, but it was without heat. He hadn't confessed it to anyone, not in plain words; he was not sure why he was saying it, only that he suddenly needed to. "Many. But only one of them was noteworthy."

Ianto watched him with unreadable blue eyes. "They're all noteworthy, Severus," he said quietly. Severus dropped his gaze, ashamed.

"Come," he told the floor, "I should get you back to Cardiff."

"Why did you kill him?" Ianto asked and Severus did not, could not reply. Instead he grasped Ianto's wrist and disapparated.

.

* * *

.

"_Severus!_" Ianto yelped when they reappeared, standing, oddly enough, on the Plass in Cardiff. "Severus, what the hell—"

"Where do you live?" Severus demanded, eyes as cold and dead as flint, "Or are you safe here?"

Ianto supposed distractedly that the Millennium Centre was a rather large landmark, recognizable to someone who didn't live in Wales. "Here is fine," he said, feeling a little dazed. "You still haven't answered my—"

"_Ianto!_" a third voice echoed across the Plass and Severus tensed, ready to disappear again.

Ianto ignored Jack, instead grabbing Severus' sleeve.

"Get off me, Jones—" he growled, but Ianto interrupted him.

"Not until you answer my questions," Ianto told him firmly, and Severus swiftly drew his stick.

"_Obliviate_," his friend said curtly. Ianto's grip slackened in shock, and the world went hazy.

Jack came hurtling from nowhere, coattails flying behind him. Ianto wondered distractedly what he was doing out here. There was cloth beneath Ianto's fingers. Was he holding something?

"What have you done to him?" Jack snarled at the man in black standing next to Ianto. Ianto blinked, dazed. It was the man's sleeve; that was what Ianto was holding. He knew this man, why did he know this man…

_Tell me, Jones, does your mother know that you're sleeping with your boss?_

"Be grateful that the only things I took were his memories," Severus Snape, who had apparently not died in the attack on the Dancing Bears six months ago, replied. "Tonight he was in danger of losing much more." He shook Ianto's hand from his sleeve and moved to walk away. Why had Ianto been holding his sleeve? What had just happened?

Ianto swayed, dizzy and confused. His head hurt and Severus… Severus was alive? And here?

How had he gotten out onto the Plass? The last thing Ianto could remember was the archives…

"Give them back," Jack was growling as though from very far away. "I do not care who you are or what side of that damn stupid war you're on; give them back!"

"You ought to care," Severus replied, voice velvet soft, "You ought to care very deeply, Jack Harkness, because the Dark Lord's prime concern is immortality. I saw into Jones' mind, Captain." He advanced upon Jack, stick drawn, and to Ianto's dreamy, dizzy surprise, Jack backed down in horror. "You wouldn't want to fall into the wrong hands, would you?"

"They were right," Jack hissed back with the venom of the defeated. "The genealogists of my time. Out-dated, hateful and hungry; you lot really are decedent from the Carrionites!"

Severus smirked and, to Ianto's utter surprise, he turned on the spot, disappearing. Ianto blinked slowly. "What just happened?" he asked woozily.

Jack looked furious, but his eyes softened when he turned to Ianto. He took off his coat and swung it around Ianto's shoulders with great tenderness. Ianto offered him a half smile, confused but grateful for the warmth and enjoying the attention. Jack led him over to the invisible lift.

"What's all this for?" he asked quietly, leaning into Jack's touch. He no longer remembered even being dizzy.

Jack looked miserable, suddenly. "Nothing," he said with a sad smile. "I'm allowed to be nice sometimes, aren't I?"

Ianto stopped walking, concerned at his expression. "Are you alright?" he asked softly, touching Jack's cheek.

Jack kissed his palm in a show of uncharacteristic affection. "I'm fine, Ianto. Come on; it's late. Let's get you to bed."

.

* * *

.

Severus returned to Hogwarts with a sigh.

Ianto was alive, he thought as he walked up the grassy hill to the castle. Really, that was all he needed to know. His friend was alive, and had that Harkness to look after him. It was better for all involved that he had removed Jones' memories, never mind that a small portion of Severus regretted it.

Harkness himself was a dangerous piece of information, especially since he was so clear in Ianto's mind. Nevertheless, his was a well-kept secret; Severus only acquired the information when he took Ianto's memories, and it was unlikely that any Death Eaters cared enough to look in the Muggle world for an immortal.

The Dark Lord must not get his hands on Harkness, which meant that Severus could never go back to visit Ianto. Harkness likely would not let him, anyway.

Still. It was enough that his friend was alive, Severus thought with grim satisfaction as he reached the castle. He began to walk up the stairs and Occlude his mind, slowly locking the memories of Ianto and Torchwood and Jack Harkness behind a smooth, impenetrable wall.

Safe. His friend was safe.

.

* * *

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	3. Epilogue: Empty Tables

A/N Right, so I keep saying that this story is over, and then it keeps not being over. But I think it's really over after this. Chapter title refers to a song in Les Mis, from which the quote comes, and clearly does not belong to me. This takes place after both CoE and DH. Likelihood of a happy ending: slim to nil. Apparently I only write depressing stuff - who'd'a thunk? This chapter also gets a shout out to PARAXENOS, because this idea's been knocking around my head for a while, and it's rather her fault :)

Anyway, enjoy.

_.  
_

* * *

**Empty Tables**

_Phantom faces at the window_  
_Phantom shadows on the floor_  
_Empty chairs at empty tables_  
_Where my friends will meet no more..._

Harry Potter followed the trail to here, here of all places, he thought grimly, clutching his wand and striding into the great, cavernous room.

The amphitheater with the Veil in the Department of Mysteries was not in any way, shape or form his favorite place. He had lost Sirius here in a battle that, while rather minor in the grand scheme of things, still burned sharply in his memories.

But that was not why he was here. He was looking for Torchwood, and a man called Ianto Jones. Severus Snape had left Harry more memories than he knew what to do with, and most of them were scattered and random, peripheral to the ones of Lily Evans. Still, memories of a suited, fragile Muggle had started to haunt Harry's dreams, as though Snape wanted to apologize from the grave.

So Harry had searched. He'd followed an almost nonexistent trail, starting at a crater in the Millennium Center in Wales and ending here, at last, in the Department of Mysteries, where a strange man in a long coat was standing before the Veil.

"Excuse me?" Harry called in surprise from the doorway, striding forward into the amphitheater. To be truthful, he had not expected to find anyone here. The trail had left off last in the Thames House, where there had been some sort of disaster - Harry had, from there, found a strange sort of magical residue that led here. He suspected, although he hoped that he was wrong, that the path led here because Ianto Jones was dead, and the path of all who died led here, in the end. But he looked hopefully at the man - perhaps _he _was Ianto Jones, and Harry was wrong. "Sir?" Harry called again.

He did not have time to say anything more. The man in the coat walked toward the Veil, a determination to the set of his shoulders. It took Harry a moment to work out what he was doing. "Wait!" Harry cried. Was the idiot really going to walk through the Veil? _Really?_ "You don't—" his voice died in his throat, because it was too late. The man had brushed the cloth.

The stranger grasped murmuring, flowing fabric of the Veil in a fist. Harry gaped. The dark cloth whispered in the stranger's hands and he lifted it high above his head. It was as though he had pulled aside a curtain made of velvet; behind it was nothing more spectacular than the other side of the amphitheater, as though the Veil were just an ordinary curtain. When the man stepped through the archway, he simply walked to the other side of the room.

"S-sir?" Harry demanded, gaping. How was that even possible? Sirius had fallen through that Veil, Sirius had _died_ because of that thing.

The stranger sighed. The Veil fell in front of him, briefly obscuring him from Harry's view. Harry sucked in a breath, thinking in shock that the fool had passed on, into Death. Instead, the stranger strode around the archway and regarded Harry with an odd, defeated look on his face. Then he grinned the most awful grin, like a puppet or a skull.

"Worth a shot," he said, accent brash and American, and he walked toward the door. His voice might have been cheerful, if his eyes had not looked so hopeless.

"Wait—" Harry said, completely confused. He reached out to grab the man's arm. "How did you just—?" he managed to splutter.

"Don't try it," the man growled. Right, Harry thought grimly, as if he ever would.

"I'm looking for a Ianto Jones," Harry continued doggedly, still following him. "Are you—"

"Ianto Jones is gone," replied the stranger harshly. He stopped walking at last to glare.

Harry met his gaze and swallowed sharply. The stranger had the bluest of blue eyes, and there was an odd smell that surrounded him, something heady and dark. Those eyes fixed intensely on Harry's green ones. "And you, kid," the man continued softly, his expression cold as stone. He brushed the bangs from Harry's forehead and smiled another awful smile. "The Boy Who Lived," he murmured, voice bitter and grieving and guilty.

"Who are you?" Harry asked. People recognized the scar, of course, so it wasn't much of a surprise that the stranger knew who he was, but an introduction would have been nice. This man was no Death Eater; Harry knew it, somehow, down to the marrow of his bones. He looked like a Muggle, albeit a rather old fashioned Muggle. Still, with that coat, there was no way he was a wizard.

"Me? I'm the Man Who Doesn't Die," said the stranger, and left with a swirl of his coat.

Harry never found his name, and the trail of Ianto Jones died, irrevocably, there in the Department of Mysteries. The dreams never stopped.


End file.
